It Happened One Christmas
by SnowboundMermaid
Summary: Post-Season Seven AU - One cancelled flight, one early arrival and a Christmas blizzard all conspire to turn Barney and Robin's airport encounter into a second chance at the love of a lifetime.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own HIMYM, its characters or anything even vaguely related to it. This is my own what-if imagining.

December 23rd, 2013

"No, Mom, I'm not making this up."

Barney's ears pricked at the sound of Robin's voice. He'd know that voice anywhere, even in a crowded airport terminal. He gestured for Ranjit, pushing the luggage cart, to stop, and turned in the direction of the sound. Robin Sherbatsky leaned against a nearby wall, head tipped back against a green and yellow Tantrum advertisement, eyes closed and one booted foot planted squarely atop her wheeled suitcase. She wasn't okay.

"Why would I make up a blizzard? There are no flights." She drew her hair over her shoulder and wound the ends around her fingers. She hadn't worn it that long in years. He liked it. "All outgoing flights are grounded. I'm not going to make it."

"We should keep going." Ranjit's voice sounded as though it came from miles away. "It is really coming down out there. Winter wonderland from hell."

Barney ran a hand over his jaw. The bristles of a day's travel rubbed against his palm. "In a minute." He couldn't leave without at least saying hello. Without trying to help.

Robin lowered her phone and dropped it into the leather satchel slung over her shoulder. She didn't move after that, only dashed the back of her hand over her eyes and dragged her suitcase flush against the wall.

He strode toward her. "Well, well, well, Robin Sherbatsky, we meet again. Or," he asked, when her eyes flew open and her head turned in his direction, "are you using Mosby socially now? It's weird that I don't know that."

Robin held up a naked left hand for his inspection. "All Sherbatsky all the time."

Barney instantly sobered. His muscles tensed. He had to blink to chase away the image of the princess cut diamond he'd helped Ted pick out in what seemed like another life. She'd been wearing that ring the last time he saw her. She'd been flying to Chicago that time, not out of it, with Ted, who'd promised to take care of her. That was what, a year and a half now? Too long. She wasn't okay. "I'm sorry. What happened? You don't have to say if you don't want."

Robin's shrug sent the tail of her white knitted scarf trailing over the red wool of her coat. Canada colors. They suited her. "What always happens with me and Ted? I'm me, and Ted is Ted. We're better off as friends. For real this time."

Panic flared in his gut. "Hey. You can't give up that easily. Ted loves you." The words caused a physical pain in his gut, burned their way through his throat, onto his tongue, but he couldn't hold them back.

Robin moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue and held him with a level gaze. "He does, but not the way he loves Tracy."

The sound of the unfamiliar name rattled him. "Who's Tracy?"

"Ted met a girl in Chicago." She paused for only a moment, as though she knew he'd need time to process the information. "We were on a train platform. It was raining. Ted saw a girl with a yellow umbrella. He said it would be funny if that was his yellow umbrella, so I said he should go find out. He did. It was. She was Cindy's roommate. Ted's perfect girl."

_No_, Barney wanted to tell her. _That couldn't have been Ted's perfect girl on the train platform because I'm looking at the perfect girl right now_. He rubbed the back of his neck. _Lame_. That sounded like the end of some cheesy Christmas movie. _Ted_ could have said those words, and Robin didn't need Ted-speak from him. He didn't know what she needed. "Wow. I don't even know what to say to that."

That seemed to do the trick. "Seriously. I watched Ted fall in love on that platform. Not the way he usually does; this time is different. It's real, and it only took a matter of minutes. Within a week, I knew I had to do the right thing. I gave Ted his ring back and I moved out."

"Have you forgotten everything I taught you? Always keep the ring."

Only one corner of her mouth lifted, but he'd take that. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

He waved a hand in dismissal. "What next time? What are the odds that there are three guys on this planet dumb enough to let you get away? Four, counting me. Do the math. Next one'll stick. I promise."

She raised herself on tiptoe and peered past him. "Better not let Quinn hear you talk like that."

"Why would Quinn care?" Then it hit him. Robin didn't know. Nobody told her. Now it was his turn to show a bare left hand. "Quinn and I broke up. There was no wedding."

Robin rested a hand on his sleeve. Her brows knit with concern. "Are you okay?"

Barney scoffed. "Please. Never better. I dodged a bullet on that one. Woman be crazy." He looped a finger next to his ear and forced a smile.

Robin's phone rang before she could respond. "It's my mom." She flicked her hair behind her shoulder and put the phone to her ear. "Hi, Mom. Yes, the snow is getting heavier. Yes, all the flights are cancelled. No, I cannot pull strings and get a special flight out. I don't control the weather. I don't know when there will be more flights. It might not be until Boxing Day. I'll get a hotel or something." She and kneaded at her forehead with her free hand. "I don't know. Somewhere."

Barney didn't need to hear Genevieve's side of the conversation. Robin's voice, more weary with every answer filled it in for him. "No. No hotel." Barney pointed to himself with both index fingers, his motions broad.

"Mom? Can you hold for a minute? There's a crazy person here. He may need medical attention." She weighted those last words and fixed Barney with a piercing stare as she lowered her phone. "What?"

"Stay with me."

Robin shook her head. "I can't."

"No, you have to." He gestured to the plate glass windows that allowed a view of the runway. "Look at it out there. All flights are cancelled. By the time you get out of the airport, the only hotels with any rooms left will be those that charge by the hour and change sheets upon request."

Robin tilted her head and gifted him with a saucy curve of her lips. "Oh, so your favorite places?" She slid both hands into her pocket, her posture relaxed.

Barney lay one hand over his heart. "Touché. I'm serious. I have the room and I literally do not have any plans for Christmas."

"Right."

"I'm serious. Marshall and Lily took Marvin to Minnesota. My mom and Sam are getting pretty serious; she and James and Tom and the kids are with his family. Quinn and I were going to spend the holiday with her family, which she is doing, asshole ex-fiance not invited. I'd planned on working through the holiday, but I finished early. Please. You'd be doing me a favor."

Lines formed about her mouth, a sure sign of deep thought.

"If you don't come home with me, all I'm going to do is sit around in sweatpants and watch bad Christmas movies on the giant screen. What else are you going to do?"

Robin's lower lip protruded by the slightest degree. "I don't know. Ted took Tracy to meet her parents in New Jersey. They said I was welcome to come, but that would be weird. I guess I'm just stuck."

"Stuck in the most awesome city in the world. We can turn this snowpocalpyse into a bropocalypse. It can be our Christmas gift to each other."

"Convenient, because I didn't get you anything, but how are we even going to get to your apartment? If all the hotel rooms are already taken, then all the cabs have to be taken, too. You're as stuck as I am. Best we can do is stake out a table in the food court and wait for the storm to break."

"No, I am not stuck, and I don't need a cab. Ranjit?"

"Hello!" Ranjit's greeting chased all the tension from Robin's face. She put the phone back to her ear. "Mom? I have to go. I found a lead on a place to stay. She threw her arms around Ranjit. "It's good to see you."

Ranjit responded with a single pat to Robin's back. "Good to see you, too."

Barney bristled with affront he only half-pretended. "Ranjit gets a hug and I don't? You wound me again, Sherbatsky." He pounded a fist over his heart. "Right here. Do you want me to bleed out here in the terminal?"

There it was at last, the full on Sherbatsky smile he'd been angling for the whole time, complete with eye roll and twitch of her lips. "Nah, wouldn't be fair to the custodial staff. Come here." Robin spread her arms wide and beckoned him into her embrace. She clutched him like a drowning woman would a life raft, fingers digging into him through wool and cotton. "I missed you," she whispered, her breath warm on his ear. He didn't imagine the dampness against his neck.

She felt good in his arms. Too good, soft and warm. She fit like she'd been made for him to hold. "Missed you, too." His lips brushed her hair, his head resting against hers for a fraction of a second. He didn't want to let go, but somebody had to. He'd let go when she left for Chicago. He could do it again now. He stepped back. "What do you say, spend Christmas with me?"

Robin pulled her suitcase away from the wall and surrendered it to Ranjit. "Only until I can get a flight out."

"Duly noted."

She didn't protest when he rested a hand in the small of her back.


	2. Chapter 2

All Robin needed to make the ride back to Barney's apartment complete was a literal ghost of boyfriends past. She hadn't expected to see him again, let alone be in the back of a town car with him, her hand resting inches away from his, very much free of the wedding band she'd expected to see there. That was the reason she'd left New York for Chicago in the first place. Barney was going to marry Quinn, so Robin would move out of state and marry Ted. She and Barney would lead separate lives. It would be a clean break. That was the plan. That was the deal. That's the way it had to be.

Barney and Quinn would have a dozen blond, hyperactive babies and send out Christmas cards every year with everybody dressed in matching Fair Isle sweaters, mugging for the camera and sporting novelty Santa hats. Not that Robin had ever expected to be receiving any of those cards, but she'd lined them up on the imaginary mantle of the house she and Ted would have shared anyway. She and Ted would…at the moment, she couldn't remember. The whole thing was moot anyway.

Ranjit rode up in the elevator them, to unload the suitcases. He was first through the door when Barney unlocked it and pushed the luggage cart inside. "Where should I put Robin's bags?"

Barney took Robin's coat and hung it with his own in the closet. "Put everything in the bedroom." He turned to Robin and closed the door. "My housekeeper came this morning, so the sheets are fresh. You take the bed. I can sleep on the couch."

Going into Barney's bedroom was dangerous for any woman, let alone one who knew all too well what that room had seen. Especially her. Especially now. Robin shook her head and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. "I can't ask you to sleep on the couch. You just spent fourteen hours on a plane. It's your apartment. I'm the one crashing. I'll take the couch."

Barney's features set firm with determination. "I cannot in all good conscience let you do that. I am sleeping on the couch, and I will be fine. It folds out."

Robin crossed her arms. "You're forgetting I know this apartment. Your couch does not fold out."

"This one does." He took off the seat cushions and leaned them against the wall, then moved back the coffee table. Sure enough, the metal framework and folded springs came into view. "The old couch caught fire while Quinn and I were having one of our more heated disagreements. This mattress and I are old friends. I think I slept here more often than the bed for the last couple of months of the engagement."

"So you want me to sleep in the bed you shared with Quinn?" No matter that she'd slept, and, more importantly, not-slept in the bed he'd shared with half of New York. The skin on the backs of her legs itched.

Barney unfolded the mattress and locked the legs in place. "No, that mattress had an accident with a kitchen knife. Actually, the whole set. The police report said thirty seven different slashes. I stopped counting after five."

Robin's mouth went slack. "Did Quinn hurt you?" She stared at Barney as though she could see through his clothes to any lingering scars. She couldn't see anything on his face or hands, but the rest of him remained in question.

He looked away, then back at her. "More fiscally than physically, but that was a pretty clear sign that things weren't going to work out between us. Long story short, that's a new mattress in there, too. You're the first girl I've brought back here since it was delivered. Not that I brought you back here for that. We're friends, right?"

Robin pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and chafed her forearms to keep her hands busy. "Right. Friends. Totally platonic."

He nodded, as though that was all the answer he needed. "Good. Take the bed. I insist."

She didn't have it in her to argue any further. "Fine. Will you at least let me make up the couch for you?"

He smoothed out the mattress without looking up. "My apartment, remember?"

"I know." There really wasn't anything at all of Quinn in this apartment anymore, but it's not exactly the way it used to be, either. Walls and furniture still blended into one continuous wash of gray. The storm trooper still stood sentinel by the sliding glass doors to the balcony. She picked out the small differences; a bright red coffeemaker on the kitchen counter, new bookcase, a snake plant in what looked like an old bucket opposite the storm trooper. Barney Stinson with a houseplant; post-Quinn Barney was…interesting. She ran a finger along the edge of the metal gym basket that held a stack of magazines next to the couch. She'd missed New York.

Ranjit emerged from the bedroom, his cart empty. "Will there be anything else?"

Barney peeled off a couple of bills from his wallet and handed them to Ranjit. "No, we're good. Get home safe and enjoy those grandkids."

Ranjit held up two fingers and beamed at Robin. "Two new ones since you have been gone."

"Congratulations." She couldn't say anything else. It shouldn't bother her this much, finding out their sometime chauffer had new grandchildren she didn't know about, but it did. The knowledge that it bothered her bothered her even more. "You must be very proud."

"Very proud," Ranjit echoed. He counted the bills Barney handed him and tucked them in his breast pocket. "Thank you, and Merry Christmas." One slight bow –a bow- and he steered his cart through the door Barney opened for him. The door shut.

Robin's stomach fluttered. Ranjit had left her alone with Barney. Barney's muscles flexed as he shrugged out of his jacket and folded it over the back of the nearest chair. He loosened his tie, took off his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. The skin there was fair, lightly furred, unmarred. He looked tired and rumpled there in the light from the overhead fixture, and very very touchable. "So, sweatpants, huh?"

"Armani," he answered, and pocketed his cufflinks. "Hungry?"

Robin glanced past snake plant and stormtrooper to the swirling wall of white outside. "Nothing's going to be open out there." But there would be. This was New York. Something was open, and he'd go out into that mess if she asked him to, even if she hinted that she might possibly want that at some point.

Barney reclaimed his jacket and draped it over one arm. "Doesn't have to be." He crossed to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

She had to look twice to make sure the contents weren't a mirage. Not only was the refrigerator stocked, but with actual food. Milk, juice, eggs, butter, produce, condiments, not a takeout container in sight. If it weren't for the beer on the bottom shelf, she would have sworn she was looking into the wrong refrigerator. "Who _are_ you?"

He flashed a bashful grin, teeth all the whiter for the shadow of whiskers about his mouth and jaw. "It's just me here. No bimbos to send on their way. Might as well actually have all the comforts of home if I'm the only one in it. I could make you something."

Robin pinched the inside of her wrist. Nope, definitely awake. "You cook now?"

Barney shrugged and opened the crisper. He peered inside, then closed it again. "Figured I might as well learn how to feed myself, especially since I'm going to be on my own for a while."

"Not getting back up on that horse? I find that hard to believe."

Barney surveyed the contents of the refrigerator. Lifted the lids on plastic containers. Counted eggs. Turned bottles in the door label side out. "Single life has its benefits. I'm taking a breather from the dating game for a while. Need to get my footing again. Figure out who I am before I add anybody else into the mix. What about you? Back out there yet, or too soon still?"

Robin let out a breath that ruffled her bangs. Her shoulders twitched. "Men are stupid. You know me. I'm all about work."

Even with his back to her, she could imagine the knowing smile those words would bring. "Classic Sherbatsky. Any dietary restrictions I should know about?" Pristine white cotton bunched and smoothed across his back with every movement.

"Nope. I'll eat anything. You really don't have to cook for me. You're already letting me stay here. Let me cook for you." She had no idea where that had come from, but she'd said it.

Barney straightened and glanced back over his shoulder. "You can't cook. Can you?"

Robin bristled. "I can make Kraft dinner."

He laughed, closed the refrigerator and, two steps later, took a familiar blue box from the pantry. "Okay. Do you mind if I grab a quick shower while you cook?" He held up a hand to stop her answer before it could come. "Do not tell me it's my apartment. I've been in these clothes for," his gaze flicked to the clock on the wall, "almost exactly twenty three hours."

Robin cocked her head and pretended to consider. "Hmm, you do smell like airport."

"So do you." The retort came quick, instinctive, but smile lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah, but I only smell like domestic airport. You smell like international airport."

Barney planted both hands on his hips. His jaw thrust forward. "You mean I smell like first class. You smell like Chicago. The stench of deep dish pizza transcends even airport smell. It's in your hair and everything. Maybe you should shower first, and do not fight me on this; I am getting you a real pizza tomorrow. Never forget where you come from."

"They have real pizza in Chicago." Robin bit down on her lower lip to stave off a laugh. If she laughed, he'd laugh, and this dance of words would be over. She wasn't ready for that. "And I come from Canada."

Barney's brows flashed upward. "Did I not say not to fight me on this? One, deep dish pizza is not pizza. You can't fold it. They have casseroles in Chicago, not pizza, and two, you are a naturalized New Yorker. New York outranks Canada." His chin lifted. "I know it's a big inconvenience, and I'm sorry you don't get to spend Christmas with your family, but I'm glad your flight got grounded. You can shower first."

"I'm glad my flight was grounded, too," she said, and she was. They'd fallen back into the rhythm of her and him, the way it used to be, before Quinn, before Nora, before Kevin and Ted. Well, between Ted. Teds? The easy banter they'd always had let her believe that maybe she could salvage some semblance of normal out of the chaos her life had become. "Go shower. I can't shower first because I'm making dinner." She worked a nail under the flap of the box and pried it open. "See? I've already started."

Barney's slow smile spread by millimeters from his mouth to his eyes. "Well, if you've already started, what choice do I have?" His fingers worked at the loosened knot of his tie.

Robin tracked the motion, mesmerized by the intimacy and precision of his movements. Any man could take off a tie, but Barney turned it into an art. He'd go for the button at his throat next, pause there for a moment before he took care of the others. Her lips parted. She leaned forward. Crap. He'd seen her. She turned the box over. "Just checking the directions. In case they're different from the Canadian ones. Nope, same. Go shower."

He lifted one brow but made no further comment. "Things are where things usually are. Make yourself at home." He disappeared down the hallway after that. The bedroom door closed behind him. A minute later, she heard the shower start.

The image of naked Barney rose in her memory. Naked, wet Barney. A bolt of desire shot through her. The box dropped from her hand. Elbow macaroni scattered over the dark surface of the counter. Damn it, she didn't need this.


	3. Chapter 3

Barney closed the bathroom door and shoved both hands through his hair, hard, as though he could mush the events of the last hour into some semblance of order. It didn't work. Robin Scherbatsky-not-Mosby was in his kitchen, making macaroni and cheese. Sixty minutes ago, he'd thought she was engaged to Ted, who was supposed to be taking care of her, but she wasn't. Ted wasn't taking care of Robin anymore because Ted was in New Jersey, meeting Yellow Umbrella Girl's parents. Tracy. Yellow Umbrella Girl was named Tracy. He tapped his fist against his mouth. This sucked.

He stuffed down the urge to bellow every curse he knew and shatter the glass of the shower stall. Robin would hear, if he did that. She'd come in and he'd have to explain, and he couldn't. Shower. He came in here to shower. Robin would expect to hear the shower running. He yanked open the door to the shower stall and turned on the water, then braced both hands against the sink. "Fuck." The word burst from his mouth. That helped, some. Not enough. He turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face.

There was no chance at all, he told himself, of this face getting anywhere near Robin's face tonight. He was dehydrated from the pressurized air of the cabin, looked like he had a baby hedgehog sleeping on his chin, and the bags under his eyes were big enough to count as carryon luggage. "That is not going to happen, so get it out of your head right now." He stared down his reflection to make sure that fact sank in. Up until an hour ago, she'd thought he was married to Quinn. She wasn't looking for any action from him tonight, and she'd be gone as soon as the first flight to Vancouver was cleared for takeoff. Robin might be sleeping in his bed tonight, but she wouldn't be sleeping with him. She'd picked Kevin over him. She'd picked Ted over him. Then Ted picked Tracy over her, and Barney could have gone his entire life without knowing that, if it weren't for the damned snowstorm that grounded Robin's plane.

"Fuck!" Barney swept one arm across the entire expanse of the counter. Jars and bottles scattered over the tiled floor. The scents of mint and sandalwood assaulted him, released all at once from the impact, too strong. He braced himself against the edge of the sink, in case Robin had heard him. In case she came in. She might. She could. Water pounded against the glass and tile of the shower stall, in counterpoint to his racing pulse. Shower. He'd come in here to take a shower. That's what Robin would expect to see if she did investigate.

He worked at the buttons of his shirt with shaking fingers. _She loves me, she loves me not_, over and over until he peeled the rumpled cotton from his body on a final _she loves me_. She didn't. She couldn't. He should know that by now, accept it. He couldn't. He wadded the fabric into a ball and hurled it across the room. It landed in a pool of spilled aftershave. He shed the rest of his clothes and positioned himself under the spray.

Robin and Ted weren't married. They weren't engaged. They weren't even together. Ted was in love with somebody else. Robin was on the other side of this wall, making macaroni and cheese. The thoughts circled his mind like planes at the airport. They wouldn't land, only melded together into one bigger thought; there was no reason at all for Robin not to be a part of his life. They were both as single as it was possible to be. Robin was happy for Ted, and if Ted was with Tracy, that had to mean he was over Robin, for real this time. Hell, there was no reason Barney couldn't have them both back in his life. If he still believed in Christmas wishes, that would be his. His girl. His bro. He wouldn't need anything else, but he didn't believe in wishes, Christmas or otherwise. Not anymore. Even when they did come true, they didn't last, and that was worse than when they didn't come true at all.

He went through the rest of the motions by rote: soap, water, towel, razor, toothbrush, mouthwash, spit, wipe sink. Cleaning up the mess came next. He picked up the things that weren't broken and put them back in their usual spots, then gathered every piece of broken glass. Went over the area twice to make sure he hadn't left anything behind. Soaked up the spilled aftershave with his shirt and stuffed it in the hamper. Robin didn't have to know about this, if he was careful. He could be careful. He would be. For her.

For now, he had the rituals of coming home to perform before he joined Robin again. Open the suitcase, put dirty clothes in the proper hampers, clean clothes back in the closet, trash in the trashcan. Check phone. He scrolled past texts from James and their mother, then a picture of Marshall and Marvin in matching Santa hats, before he navigated to his list of contacts. Ted was still listed under emergency contacts.

He could call Ted. Probably should. He hadn't meant for the two of them to drift apart. They were going to give it some time, make sure Robin got settled okay, then sometime after the wedding, after the wedding_s_ –- Barney's thumb slipped. _Calling Ted_ flashed across his screen.

"No. No calling Ted. Do not call Ted. Stop calling Ted." Barney jabbed every button on the screen in an attempt to abort the call. Too late. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tight. This couldn't be happening. If there were such things as miracles, he could use one about now. Just a small one. _Please_.

The ringtone gave way to a voice Barney hadn't heard in a year and a half. "Hi, you've reached Ted Mosby at Hammond Druthers and Associates."

Barney hauled in a deep breath and scratched behind his ear. "Hey, Ted, It's Barney. Can we, um,-"

"I can't take your call right now, but leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Happy Holidays."

_Voicemail_. Barney's head tilted back from sheer relief as the call went to voicemail. Maybe there were a few miracles left, after all. "Hey, Ted, it's Barney. Um, Merry Christmas." _Good start, now what_? "It's dumb that we don't talk anymore. Call me back when you get this." He ended the call before he could say anything else and stuck his phone in the charger, then took sweatpants and t-shirt from the bottom drawer.

One quick check in the mirror before he opened the door. His hair was still wet; Robin wouldn't mind that. It would look like he was trying too hard if he did anything to it, so he left it alone. He'd cut himself on the left hinge of his jaw, only a small nick, not even bleeding anymore. The Lusty Leopard logo on the t-shirt gave him pause. He whipped the shirt over his head, crumpled it into a ball and aimed it at the wastebasket. Next to the wastebasket. Whatever. He grabbed a plain gray t-shirt instead and dropped that over his head before he picked up the discarded shirt and shoved it to the bottom of the trash. Second check on the hair. Okay. Fine. That would do. Cross to door. Hand on knob. Turn. Left foot. Right foot. All the way down the hall and around the corner. He stopped short at the sight of her.

If Barney could take only one image to the grave with him, it would be this. Robin Sherbatsky-not-Mosby, in his kitchen, making macaroni and cheese. Making macaroni and cheese _for him_. He couldn't place the tune Robin half-hummed, half-sang as she stirred the contents of the single pot on the stove. Something Christmassy, from the few words he could catch. Christmas. Snow. Fireplace. Moose. Make that Canadian Christmassy. Chances were there was some ill-advised Robin Sparkles Christmas special, filmed but never aired. The only surviving copy was probably holding up the short leg of some producer's assistant's desk. He'd search for it, of course, later. If it existed, he'd find it, but for now, the live show was more than enough.

She had her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. The gray pinstriped apron he kept in the pantry protected her fuzzy white sweater. Her stocking feet shifted in time to the music, as though the song had a dance that went with it. Now he was sure; there was a Robin Sparkles Christmas something somewhere out there. She didn't know he was there. She'd stop if she did.

The scents of butter, milk, and artificial cheese carried on the vapor that carried from the kitchen area. Two plain white bowls waited on the counter by the stove. Two place settings rested on the table, along with two bottles of beer. No glasses. That was his cue. "Good choice on the beer."

She turned at the sound of his voice. "Look at you." Her mouth curved in appreciation as she inclined her head and looked him up and down.

"I did promise you sweatpants. I left fresh towels in the bathroom for you. If you want to shower before we eat, I can keep things warm for you."

·

She brushed her bangs out of her eyes with the back of her hand. "As appealing as that sounds, you're going to have to deal with the Chicago stink. I'm starving. Any chance of one of those Christmas movies afterward?" She paused there, to dump half the pot into each bowl. "You probably want to go right to sleep, though, and here I am, demanding you play host. Forget I said anything."

Barney took both bowls from the counter and carried them to the table. "I'm the one who asked you to stay with me. You're not demanding anything I don't want to give. I did just spend fourteen hours in a plane. My body doesn't have any idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Dinner and a movie it is." He raked one hand through his still-damp hair, then smoothed it back down before it dried that way. "God, that sounds like a date. You know what I meant."

"I know," she said and shoved her fork into her food. "So, you were planning on working over Christmas?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Yeah." Barney shoved a fork into the mound of macaroni in his bowl. "I figured working was better than being Broken Engagement Guy at somebody else's celebration. Especially if what I think is going to happen with Sam and my mom is going to happen." He dragged his fork around the rim of the bowl, eyes downcast. "How awkward would that be? I'd be the only single person over the age of nine if I went with Marshall and Lily. Easy to spot the pity guest there. You and Ted were-" The line of his mouth flattened. "Nobody gets offended if I say I have to work, and volunteering to go to Beijing makes me the office hero for the guys who actually have families."

_You have a family_. The words crowded Robin's tongue, but her mouth was full. _You could have come to Vancouver_. He'd have complained about having to spend Christmas in Canada the whole flight over, but then he wouldn't want to leave. Her mother would have introduced him to everybody as 'Robin's special young man.' It would have been easier to play along than correct her, and who knows where that would have led? It wouldn't have been lying. 'Special young man' didn't mean boyfriend, not necessarily. She chased her food with a swallow of beer. "You gave up three free days in Beijing to come home to an empty apartment?"

Barney shrugged. "I wanted to be home. Enough about me. I'm boring. I work for a _bank_. What are you doing? Making Oprah nervous yet? I bet you're taking Chicago by storm."

Robin's shoulders drooped. "More like by drizzle. There weren't any open anchor slots, so I'm back on the morning talk show circuit. _Wake Up, Chicago_, this time, which is exactly as lame as it sounds. On the one hand, it airs at nine, so people actually are watching, but on the other hand, my boss is Don." She paused there, to watch that bit of information sink in.

Barney sucked air through his teeth. "Ouch. Is that awkward?"

"We're both professionals. We deal with it."

Barney tried to mask his smile by taking a swig of his beer. It didn't work. A wicked mischief glinted in his eyes. She knew that look.

"What?"

He lowered the bottle. "I'm picturing the two of you in a meeting. Don's being all Don and trying to pretend he doesn't remember what you look like naked, very studiously not looking anywhere near your boobs. Then there's you, not looking at him at all, because you really are there to do the job and wishing he'd grow up already. Don's thinking about you, trust me."

Robin's nose wrinkled. Barney might as well have been in every meeting they'd ever had. "Well, I'm not thinking about him. Except about what a jerk he was. Is. Why do you think Don is thinking about me?"

"Because that's how it works. What has been seen cannot be unseen. _I _think about you."

She held up a hand to stop him from going any farther with that. "Whoa. What happens in you shower is your business."

Red flooded his cheeks. "Not like that. Well, not always like that. Do you know what movie you want to see?"

Change of subject, that was good. "As a matter of fact, I do. It's a beloved Christmas classic."

"_Die Hard_?"

She almost told him yes. Almost. "I am not telling you the title until after I shower, but it starts and ends in an airport, and Alan Rickman plays a pivotal role." She lay her fork in her now empty bowl and pushed back from the table.

Barney pumped his fist and pushed back his own chair. "_Die Hard_. Yes. See, this is why you are the perfect Christmas guest. I should have you here every year. Just for that, I am breaking out the good ice cream, and you get another beer. After you wash the Chicago off you, that is." He collected the dishes and carried them to the sink. "Only so much a man can take on that front, even from you."

Robin stuck out her tongue, then headed for the bathroom, well aware that his gaze settled on her as she went. Oh yes, he deserved this, dropping that bit about him thinking about her. Watching her walk away. Standing there over the sink in his stupid t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair drying all fluffy like a baby chick. Like a sexy baby chick.

She strolled back into the living room half an hour later, in leggings and oversized t-shirt, no makeup and wet hair wrapped in a towel. She smelled like him, which she found oddly unsettling, but a natural outcome of using his shower, his soap, his towels. Even two spritzes of the perfume she'd tucked in her carryon didn't diffuse the _eau de Barney_ that wafted around her with every step. If he called her on it, she'd punch him.

He didn't, only greeted her with a lift of his chin as he set down two more bottles of beer and a pint of pumpkin pie ice cream with two spoons protruding from it. "NetView password is still the same, so cue up the movie whenever." He flopped down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him.

"Thank you, I will." She took her place beside him and picked up the remote. If she were going to take pity on him, this was her chance. She cued the movie.

Barney's anguished outcry echoed off the walls. "No! That is not _Die Hard_. You promised _Die Hard_. You lied."

_Totally worth it_. "Technically, I did not lie. _Love Actually_ is a beloved Christmas classic that begins and ends in an airport, and Alan Rickman does play a pivotal role."

"Okay, you got me there, and I will allow it only because you are the guest. I get to pick the next movie, and it will not have Hugh Grant in it." Barney draped a gray fleece blanket, over the two of them and offered Robin first crack at the ice cream.

She nestled into the pile of blankets after her first bite of ice cream and woke halfway through the movie with her head pillowed on Barney's chest, the towel a damp gray lump on her lap. He stirred a moment after she did, one lock of her hair pinched between two of his fingers. He drew his hand back. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She blinked at the hair where he'd held it then angled herself toward the lamp on the end table. Nope, no mistake. The last few inches were braided. "Did you do this?" .

Barney stretched and stifled a yawn. "Do what?"

Robin waved the braid at him.

"Huh? Oh, that. Probably."

She let the braid drop. "Since when do you know how to braid?"

"Since my mom saw the movie _10_ and taught James and me how to braid. There was a Dominican lady on the next block who did it professionally, but smaller fingers make smaller braids, and we worked cheap. If we did her hair, we got to watch extra TV. What, you don't believe me?"

Robin bit back a laugh. She could imagine the scene all too well, Loretta taking advantage of child labor, under the guise of family bonding and saving a buck. "Prove it."

"Challenge accepted." Barney paused the movie in the middle of a scene with the body doubles. A naked one. "I'm going to need a comb and hair ties."

She peeled back the blanket and retrieved a comb and two hair ties from her purse, then resumed her place on the couch. "Only two." He took the items she offered and turned her for better access before he combed through her hair, starting from the bottom and working his way up by inches. Loretta Stinson, she decided, was one hell of a teacher. Her eyes drifted closed for only a moment.

Not only a moment. Damn. Robin lay perfectly still while she took inventory. Morning, Barney's couch, head on Barney's shoulder, Barney's arm flung over her midsection. To the best of her knowledge, they were both still wearing everything they'd worn when the movie started. She counted only two beers, mostly full, on the coffee table, and one pint of ice cream surrounded by a puddle of goo. Okay, not disastrous, except for the finish on his coffee table.

She knew now the real reason Barney always shooed his conquests out at first light. Early morning Barney was a potent drug. A girl couldn't have only one taste; she'd need more. _She_ needed more. He looked vulnerable, eyes closed, blanket pulled up to his chin. Only a little scruff there, taunting her to stroke it. She settled instead for a light touch on his fluffy baby-chick hair. "Barney?"

He aimed an ineffectual swat at her hand. "Ungh."

"Time to get up."

"No." He burrowed deeper into the couch. The motion tugged on her scalp.

"You're on my hair."

That did it. "Hm? What? Oh. Sorry. Did it hurt?"

"Only when you rolled on it." Robin smoothed the braid over her shoulder and examined his work. "Nicely done. How do you remember that from thirty years ago?"

"Please." Barney unfolded himself from the couch and stretched. "I remember it from last week. I have a niece. Besides, some things, you never forget."

Robin pried herself from the pillows and headed for the curtains that covered the sliding glass doors to the balcony. "Guess not." She pulled them aside. "Holy crap, that's a lot of snow." Still coming down, too. No chance at all of a flight getting out today. "Can I turn on the news?"

"Go ahead. Coffee?"

She nodded and turned on the giant screen. WWN came up automatically. Some fresh faced cub reporter, bundled in puffer coat and watch cap, scarf wound up to his chin, stood in front of an army of snowplows and squinted against the deluge of white. She didn't envy him, but if she had to pick, right then, between his job and _Wake Up, Chicago_, she wouldn't need time to think. The crawler at the bottom of the screen showed an endless stream of cancellations and postponements. She clicked the TV back. "Guess we have another day together."

Barney took two mugs from the overhead cabinet and set them next to the coffeemaker. "Two. You wouldn't leave me all alone on Christmas day, would you? Article 25 of the Bro Code states that no bro will abandon another bro on a major holiday."

"Major Holi-" Robin broke off there. Her hand dropped from its salute.

"Would it help if I saluted with you?"

Robin shook her head. "Thanks, but no. That's a Ted thing."

"Do you miss Ted?"

"No. I'm happy for him. We're still friends, and I like Tracy. We'll work out the new normal. We always do."

The scent of dark roast coffee rose from the bag Barney opened. "Like you and me, right?"

"There's nothing like you and me. Do you miss Quinn?"

Barney's jaw set firm as he measured coffee into the k-cup and fit it into place. "Hell no."

"Did Quinn keep the ring?"

"Hell yes. She even sent me the bill to have it reset."

Robin cringed. "Tell me you did not pay for that."

There was a hiss of steam as coffee gurgled into the first mug. "Nah, it's fine. What would I do with Quinn's ring anyway? Take it back to the jeweler and tell him 'she said no?' Like that's not the most humiliating thing in the world. No thank you." He slid the mug across the counter to Robin.

"Huh. I never thought of it that way. I don't know what Ted did with my ring." She wrapped both hands around the sleek black mug and let the warmth seep into her skin.

Barney repeated the process with the second mug. "Ted will treasure that ring all the days of his life, as a memory of a love that was never meant to be."

"I cannot rule that out." She leaned against the counter and raised the mug to bathe her face in the vapors. "He'll probably keep it in its original box and take it out to show his and Tracy's kids when they're big enough to understand."

Coffee splashed over the edge of Barney's mug. He grabbed a paper towel and mopped at the spill. "Think he's going to marry her?"

"He's totally going to marry her. Don't make any firm plans for any Saturdays in June."

Barney flipped open the lid on the sugar dispenser. "Ted isn't going to invite me."

"Of course Ted is going to invite you. You're best friends."

"Best friends who haven't talked in over a year?" He poured a long stream of sugar into his mug.

Robin kept her fingers wrapped around her mug. If she didn't, she'd reach out to him. Touch his arm, stroke her thumb over crisp hair and firm muscle. "Ted misses you. All those things that made everything weird for everybody don't matter anymore. I'm not engaged to Ted. You're not engaged to Quinn."

"True." He opened the cutlery drawer and took out a spoon.

"The reason I moved to Chicago in the first place was because I didn't want things to be weird for you and Quinn." But mostly him. No, totally him. Quinn could eat dirt.

"That's not why you got engaged to Ted, is it?"

Robin reached for the sugar even though she didn't want any. "Things were complicated. There was Nora and Kevin and us and Dr. Sonya and Quinn and," that was a lot of sugar. She set the dispenser down. "Ted offered me a way out of all that. I know it wasn't the best option to take, but that's the only thing I knew how to do."

"Would you actually have married Ted?"

She still didn't know. "There are worse things a girl could do. He's kind and dependable. He's funny. He's smart. He's gainfully employed. He's still a homeowner in case I ever wanted to move to Westchester."

"Which you do not. You'd have gone stir crazy within a month. You're a city girl. I know that. Ted knows that. New York knows that, and," her breath caught at the glitter in his eyes, "it wants you to come out and play."

"Can I finish my coffee first?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Yeah, sure. I'm not a monster. Precaffienation is essential to our plans for the day." Especially essential to actually making some.

Robin's eyes narrowed as she regarded him over the rim of her mug. "We have plans for the day?"

"Of course we have plans. Just because you can't get to Vancouver doesn't mean you have to miss Christmas."

"I'm not going to miss Christmas. I'm spending it with you. Sweatpants, movies, gorging on whatever your housekeeper stocked in your kitchen. Plenty of people would count that the perfect holiday."

Plenty of people, but not Robin. Barney knew her better than that. "Nah, that's the depressing single guy spending the holiday alone version, and we," he gestured first to her and then himself, "are not most people. Tell me the truth, is sitting on that couch, under that blanket, eating an entire tin of three flavor popcorn and watching bad made for TV movies starring washed up child stars what you were going to do at your mother's?" Never mind that, twenty four hours ago, that had been the extent of his own Christmas itinerary. That was him. Robin deserved better.

Robin answered with a smile so wistful she might fade into soft focus at any minute. If this were a movie, the present scene would fade out, replaced by the picture she painted with her words. "No," she replied with a slight shake of her head. Her braids swayed dark against the heavy white cotton of her t-shirt. "The staff would have had the place all decorated with white lights and evergreen boughs gathered from the forest. The cook would have made an amazing brown sugar ham for Christmas Eve and the best turkey in the world for Christmas Day dinner. Do not," she jabbed a finger at Barney, "tell Lily I said that. She'll never let me forget it, and make it her life's mission to top Cook's turkey with hers."

He could think of worse things than Lily's turkey, but drew an imaginary zipper across his lips and crossed his heart.

That seemed to satisfy her. "I always have to bring pants one size larger to wear home, then spend half the first week of January at the gym. There is food available from the second I walk in the door; mince pies, mulled wine, hot cider, Christmas cake with candied fruit in it. Tourtière," she said that last on a sigh so plaintive it twisted his gut.

"What's tourtière?"

"Only the best meat pie you'll ever have, but here's the part you'll like best. At the end of the meal, Cook would carries in a huge plum pudding, douses it with brandy and sets it on fire. I'm talking real flames here, all the lights turned off so we can see them better. Not wimpy yellow and orange fireplace flames. I'm talking blue-hot."

Barney set down his mug. He couldn't hold a physical object and the image Robin brought to life at the same time. He braced both hands on the counter, and pictured a long table with silver and china, all faces turned toward the cook's arrival, flames leaping from, what, a bowl of pudding? Like the Jell-o stuff? Probably not. Canadian pudding had to be different from American pudding. He'd sound dumb if he asked how, so he didn't. "Canadian Christmas sounds awesome."

Robin's cheeks plumped and pinkened while she took another sip of her coffee, her eyes extra-blue as their gazes met. Happy blue. Happy-Robin blue. His favorite color. Besides gray. "It is," she said after she lowered her cup, knuckles white where she gripped the handle. "Pretty much my mom's whole side of the family would be there. Some of my Canadian friends had plans to drop by, or I could go out and see them when I'd had enough of my relatives, which would be pretty early in the day. I haven't seen some of them in a really long time." Her voice dropped lower, as though she could pack away her dashed hopes. "Some of them have husbands or wives or kids I haven't even met yet. I wasn't looking forward to telling some of the older relatives I'm not engaged anymore, especially for the second time in one year, but that's a small price to pay." Coffee splashed over the rim of her cup to splatter on the countertop.

Barney set down his mug and circled around to the other side of the counter in three quick steps. "Hey there." He took her mug and set it beside his before he wrapped his arms around her shoulder. He would have gone to Vancouver with her if he'd known where she was going, put himself between her and any questions, however well intentioned, that would cause her any pain. Hell, he'd be her fake boyfriend if that would keep the questions about two broken engagements at bay. He'd still go, if she needed a Christmas wingman. Or New Year's. "I didn't mean to make you cry. It's all going to be okay. We'll get you on the first flight out. It won't be long. Christmas is twelve days, right?" For Canada's sake, it had better be.

Robin stiffened within his embrace. He felt it first at the base of her spine, quick and strong enough that he could hear her father's gravely voice, buried deep in her mind, fighting its way out of its cage to admonish her for being too soft. For being female. For being. "I'm not crying." She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes and blinked. "Not about missing Christmas in Canada."

"Yes, you are." He reached past her to grab a fresh paper towel from the roll and handed it to her. "There is nothing wrong with that. It's okay to want to go home."

Robin crumpled the towel in her hand and swiped it once over her eyes before she pressed it to the coffee spill. Dark brown soaked into white paper. "Okay, maybe," she said at last. "Katie's going to be there, and Jessica has a new baby. I haven't seen either of them in forever. It's been a really hard year. Chicago isn't home, and I'm tired of pretending it is." She took in a ragged breath. "Christmas in Vancouver would have been really, really nice after all of this year's crap. Long walks in the woods. Ice skating. Sleigh rides. Snowball fights with my cousins. Gathering around the big fireplace for eggnog and Christmas cookies and listening to all the old stories. Even sleeping in my old room and letting somebody take care of me, even if it would be only the housekeeper."

Barney skimmed along the dampened curve of her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I'll take care of you. It'll be even better here, because we're starting from scratch. You design exactly the Christmas you want, and I will make it happen. Your mother's tree would already be up and decorated, right?"

Robin twirled the end of one braid around her finger. "Both of them. The tabletop tree in the foyer and the big one in the great room."

"Okay, see, we can top that. You wouldn't be able to decorate either of the trees at your mom's house, but you can decorate the tree here."

"There isn't any tree here." She flicked both braids behind her shoulders and crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed.

Barney squared his shoulders. "You mean there isn't any tree here _yet. _We'll go see my tree guy and you can pick out whatever kind of tree you want. Big, little, green, blue, anything. Two if you want. Three." Where they'd put a second or third tree, he didn't know, but that didn't matter. They'd figure it out. Maybe one on the balcony.

"Are you sure your tree guy is going to be available in this weather?"

Her skepticism only made him more certain. "Please. It's Christmas Eve. All trees must go. I have it on very good authority that my tree guy will be there, and delighted to see a paying customer. Especially one with such a charming companion as I will be bringing him. I bet we can even get a free wreath out of the deal, complete with big red velvet bow."

"What about ornaments? Even you wouldn't put up a naked tree."

Barney waved a hand in dismissal. "Please. This apartment has seen stranger naked things than a pine tree."

Her smile spread, small and tentative, but genuine. She'd been there for more than a few of those. "That is true, but really, is it even worth it to go shopping for ornaments in this weather? The stores that are open are going to be insane."

"No need to shop. My mom gave me a whole box of Christmas stuff from her house when I told her I was getting married. There's ornaments in there, lights, garlands, the whole deal. We'll get the tree back here, I'll get the decorations out of storage, and the two of us will make a winter wonderland that will put Lily's finest efforts to shame. Snowsuit up, Sherbatsky. This is happening."


	6. Chapter 6

"Robin, I'm not kidding. This really is the right place." Barney remained firmly rooted in place at the entrance to a vacant lot between two brick storefronts that looked like relics from another century. There were trees, Robin would give him that. Tall ones, short ones, fluffy ones, skinny ones, even the obligatory Charlie Brown special, complete with a single red bulb dangling from its sturdiest limb. A wooden lean-to, painted red and green, sheltered two men in identical navy blue down jackets and bright red Santa hats. One was tall and drug-addict skinny, the other average height and stouter. Tree Guy Number One and Tree Guy Number Two?

She didn't know where she'd expected they'd end up after they left Barney's apartment. He'd started walking, she'd followed, and they'd ended up here. It didn't fit with the Barney she knew, but two years could change a lot. Two years ago, he'd have taken her to some swanky department store, maybe, or a pop up Christmas tree boutique staffed by some big name designer. Maybe an abandoned warehouse in the meat packing district, an unmarked white van with no windows parked outside it. Maybe the van itself. Not this, not a roped-off lot flanked by a laundromat and a homeless shelter. She shielded her eyes from the deluge of snow to check the signs again. Coin Laundry. Christmas Trees. My Father's House. "This is your tree guy?" She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and trudged toward the lot. She really had been gone a long time.

"Mike is a friend of Sam's, and the director at My Father's House. Sam made me promise I'd come here if I needed a tree." Barney indicated the shorter of the two men, and peered through the falling snow as both men rose from their seats. "Gabriel," he finished, "is a very important client."

Of the shelter, not GNB, Robin surmised, from the deep purple circles beneath Gabriel's clear brown eyes. If she asked this guy how long he'd been clean, he'd be able to tell her, down to the minute.

"Barney!" Tree Guy Number One, no, Mike, Robin corrected herself, pushed away from the bench and strode toward them, plump cheeks spreading with genuine pleasure. "What happened to Bejing?" he asked, one second before he enfolded Barney in a bear hug.

Barney returned the embrace, delivered two thumps to the older man's back and pulled away. "Prayers must have worked, because I finished early. I ran into my friend, Robin, in the airport after her flight got canceled. Hey, Gabriel. How's it going?"

Gabriel's teeth flashed white against olive skin. "Good, good." He dug one hand into his pocket and withdrew a red coin pinched between two fingers. "Eight months, two weeks and three days." He held the coin up for Barney's inspection, then dropped it back in his pocket. "Got the job, too. They liked the suit. Said it showed initiative."

"Awesome. Suit only helped; it's all you." He turned to Robin. "Gabriel is one of my best students, and the newest member of GNB's custodial staff."

"You have students?" That was a new one, but it shouldn't have been a surprise. This close, Robin could see the small GNB logos embroidered on the collars of both men's coats. "What are you teaching them? Does this have anything to do with the Playbook?"

Barney coughed into his fist. "It does not. Some of the guys here want to get a leg up on getting back in the job market. I help make that happen. No big deal."

Robin shook her head. A job meant one step back toward a normal life for men like Gabriel. She clamped her lips together to keep herself from dropping a kiss on Barney's cheek. Or mouth. Either way. Maybe this Christmas wouldn't be that bad.

"What can we do for you today?" Mike asked.

"We're going to need three trees," Barney held up three fingers.

Robin shrank back behind Barney. Heat flooded her cheeks. "One tree."

Barney grabbed the hem of her jacket and pulled her back to his side. "Three trees. One potted, one tabletop and how big are the big ones?"

"Our tallest are five to seven feet." Gabriel indicated the tallest trees in the back of the lot.

Barney's head dipped in a single nod. "Perfect. Gabriel, the big tree is lady's choice, anything she wants."

Robin's brows drew together. "You brought me all the way out here so you could _not_ pick out your own Christmas tree?" That didn't make any sense, unless the man was planning something. She focused her senses on him with laser focus, her eyes narrowed. _What's really going on?_

_What? Nothing_. He lifted one brow and jerked a thumb back toward the lean-to. "I want to catch up with Mike for a few minutes, that's all. You can narrow down the choices and we can make the final pick together."

She regarded him for a long moment. Damn, those puppy dog eyes were lethal. Snowflakes on the tips of his lashes only cranked the effect up to eleven. "Fine, but if I have to come after you, you are going to regret it."

"I'll be there before you can even miss me."

"A likely story," Robin said, but turned to follow Gabriel down the center path toward the back of the lot anyway. Not quite a walk in the woods, but close enough. The scents of snow and pine soothed her. She wound the end of one braid around her gloved fingers. She'd kept the braids in, partly to see his expression when it hit him she was really going out with his handiwork still in place, and partly because he'd actually done a good job. _Lucky Sadie_. _Lucky Robin, too_.

She couldn't kid herself. The rhythmic motions of his hands in her hair had settled her nerves, his touch both practical and sensual at the same time. Sensuous, even. He hadn't tried anything, which should have surprised her, but it didn't. That in itself was a surprise. Barney might not have tried anything, but there were two of them. No telling what might have happened if she'd given voice to the purr that rose in her throat, leaned back against the solid warmth of his chest.

Sex had never been a problem with Barney and her. They'd nailed that, pun intended, from their very first time together. Barney played her like a Cape Breton fiddler, hands, mouth and body coaxing a whole symphony out of places she didn't even know had nerve endings. Not only the first time, either. It wasn't the novelty. It was him. A shiver completely unrelated to the cold coursed through her at the mere thought of that secret summer they'd shared.

"Cold, miss?" Gabriel's voice drew Robin back to the present. "We have hot coffee in the lean-to." He pointed back toward hand-lettered sign affixed to the side of the lean-to.

Somebody, Robin noted, had an artistic side. Probably Gabriel, if the white paint that speckled the legs of his jeans was any indication. White letters advertising free coffee and hot chocolate arched over a neatly printed list of the lot's other wares: Christmas trees, garlands, wreaths, mistletoe. _Mistletoe_. Robin opened her purse and rooted for her wallet. "No coffee, thanks, but there is something I need you to get for me, and GQ cover boy over there absolutely cannot know about it."

Gabriel's face paled. He stepped back, both hands out to ward off whatever she might say next. "Miss, I don't know what you've been told, but I don't do that anymore."

"What? God, no." Her gaze flicked to the neon cross on the wall of the shelter. "Sorry. I need," her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip, "the last thing on the sign."

"Delivery, miss?"

He was going to make her say it. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Mistletoe. I need you to get me mistletoe. I'll pay for it here, look at some trees, you go get it and bring it back. Without you know who seeing." She plucked the first bill her fingers brushed against and held it out to Gabriel.

He took it. "I can do that. Have a look around. I'll be right back with," his voice dropped to match hers, "the item and your change."

Apprehension squeezed her chest. Crap. The cash box was in the lean-to, same as Barney and Mike. "No, I, um, don't need change. The rest is a donation. You can put it all in the cash box after we've left. If my friend gets back here before you do, I will deny everything and you can keep the money."

That earned her a conspiratorial wink. "Not going to happen, miss. I'm fast." He took off down the center path at a trot.

_Great, like that's not going to look suspicious_. She busied herself with the trees, peeking between branches, looking for pinecones. Trees with pinecones beat out trees without pinecones. She snuck glances back at the lean-to between each tree, her eyes trained on the black knit cap pulled low over baby chick hair. _Crap. He's standing up_. Her heart pounded. Maybe she could still catch Gabriel, call the whole thing off.

Her first step into the center path dashed that hope. Gabriel strode toward her, both hands in his pockets, long mouth tipped up at the corners. He motioned her behind a row of the tallest trees and handed over the goods mere seconds before Barney's voice cut through the blood rushing in her ears.

"What did I tell you? Free wreath, complete with red velvet bow and jingle bells. See anything good?" The two bells affixed to the center of the bow tinkled as he held the wreath aloft.

Robin checked a random branch on the nearest tree. It had pinecones. It would do. "The sign says this one is six feet. Stand next to it so I can check."

Barney did, his back so perfectly straight that she couldn't help but laugh.

"You're an idiot. Yep, six feet. This one. Stand down," she added when he didn't move.

"This _one_? Thinking small there, Sherbatsky. I said we're getting three trees, and we are getting three trees. Your mom is not going to show us up in the tree department." He signaled Gabriel, who hauled on work gloves over his fingerless mitts. "We'll take this one, for delivery, that really fat tabletop tree near the entrance, and the tall skinny potted tree. All for delivery. Mike has the address. Wreath, too?" He waited for Gabriel's nod and handed over the wreath, then turned back to Robin. "Ready for lunch yet? I did promise you real pizza."

Pizza actually did sound good. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her they'd come all this way on coffee alone. "Um, aren't you forgetting something? Like paying for the trees?"

Gabriel shouldered the tree. "Already taken care of, miss. Merry Christmas."

Robin studied the too-straight set of Barney's mouth. Oh, he was good, he was, but he forgot she knew his tells. "You bought all the trees, didn't you?"

"It's Christmas. Pizza?"


	7. Chapter 7

"What, no reaction? Really? Man, you are losing it. I'd have thought you'd be all over that one. I gave you gold on a platter there, mister, and you're not even touching it?" Robin stared hard at him over the grease-stained paper plates that held their repast, two gigantic slices of New York pizza. "We are finding an open store and I am buying you a giant book of Sudoku puzzles, because you are now officially that lame."

_Crap_. She'd said something he should have reacted to, and he hadn't. She was right, he hadn't been listening, except he had, but to her voice, not her words. It wasn't his fault. Eighteen months without a daily dose of Robin Sherbtasky did things to a man. Bad things. Getting up close and personal with her after all that time was like a junkie riding a high. Direct injection, that's what it was, seeing her in the airport. A shot of the pure stuff, right into his bloodstream, a dislocated joint popping back into place. Barney coughed into his fist. "No. There is no need for that, although I totally kill at Sudoku. You have, and have had, my full attention."

"So what did I just tell you?" He read challenge in her narrowed eyes, the slight upward curve that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

_Focus_. Grab onto a keyword and stick to that. His mind raced to remember the sounds, if not the context. Work. They'd been talking about work. Work was safe. Facts. Anecdotes. Okay. She was telling him a story about work. What was the word she used most frequently? _Don_. Unless it was part of a bigger word, like _mastodon_, this was a Don story. Barney's fist clenched around the shreds of his paper napkin. His mind whirled in search of the second most frequently used word. _Elevator_. _Stuck_. "You and Don got stuck in an elevator. So many ways I could go with that, I'm trying to pick the best one."

Robin shook her head. "You're forgetting I know all your bluffs. Not buying it. I am totally getting you that Sudoku book." She picked up her slice and folded it in half.

"Bring it. I will solve every one of those puzzles before your fight leaves." He'd forgotten how much he loved watching her eat pizza. Her eyes closed as she took her first bite. The moan of pure indulgence that escaped her lips a second later reminded him of the way she threw herself into another physical activity that was not at all suitable for public consumption.

Barney snatched the red metal napkin dispenser from the table and stashed it on the seat next to him. He had to shut these thoughts down before they consumed him. Robin was leaving. He had to remember that. The second the first flight for Vancouver got cleared for takeoff, he'd be taking her back to the airport and that would be the end of it. They'd been out of each other's lives for a year and a half. Twenty-four hours ago, they'd each thought the other was married. Happily married. He'd sworn off women. She'd sworn off men. Nothing could happen between them. Nothing was going to happen.

_But braids_…. Braids did _not_ look like that on Sadie. Barney had no idea why he'd started braiding Robin's hair in the first place. Sure, it was soft. Silky, even, and his shampoo smelled different on her. So much better, that he'd positioned himself so he could sneak in a sniff or ten without her noticing. He'd been so tired he couldn't see straight, the TV was on, there was hair between his fingers, and it happened. Maybe it was all the accents; Sadie had inherited her grandmother's Julie Andrews obsession, and _Love Actually_ could sound an awful lot like _Mary Poppins_ to someone who hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. Then Robin questioned his ability and here they were, her with two dark braids lying over the shoulders of a fuzzy white sweater that begged to be touched, wisps loose about her face, and him staring so hard she put down her slice and stared back.

"What?"

_Fuck_. Blood pounded in his ears. She'd caught him. "You have some sauce right, um," he made a vague gesture encompassing the lower half of her face.

Her hand hovered above the space where the napkin dispenser had been. "Did you take all the napkins? Put them back."

"Not until you admit New York pizza is superior to Chicago pizza."

Robin glowered. "That was never a question. Napkin. Now." She dabbed the back of her hand across her mouth and scowled.

Barney cradled the dispenser against his shoulder. "Admit New York, in general, is better than Chicago, in general."

"Have you ever _been_ to Chicago?"

"I've had layovers, and by layovers, I mean-"

She didn't let him finish. "I know what you mean. Everybody knows what you mean. New York rules. Now hand over the napkins."

"I don't trust you with blunt objects when your nostrils flare like that. I'll get it." He dipped the corner of his napkin into his water bottle, then touched the wet napkin to an imaginary spot next to Robin's mouth. His knuckles brushed against her lower lip. A sharp bolt of arousal shot through him. He applied the napkin next to the smudge of deep pink her lipstick had left on his skin. "Got it."

"Thanks." She paused then and tilted her head. "You're really not here, are you? Are you okay? Is it Quinn?"

Barney dropped the napkin as though it were on fire. "What? No. It's not Quinn. It is not Quinn. It's good to see you, that's all. I didn't think that was going to happen for," he picked at the label on the water bottle, "a really long time. Maybe not until you and Ted had a couple of kids or something." He set down the bottle and picked up his slice.

Robin's gaze dropped for only a second. "Or you and Quinn had kids."

"Ew, no." The words charged out around a mouthful of pizza. "Not while I'm eating. The mere idea of me having any part in creating even a single mini-Quinn is the true nightmare before Christmas." He dropped the half-eaten slice back onto the plate. "Good movie, _Nightmare Before Christmas_; we should watch that, but no, thank you."

"Wait, are you saying that your kids with Quinn would be worse than my kids with Ted?"

Barney grabbed a fistful of napkins and wiped his hands. "Please. Those kids would be half-Ted and half-Canadian. Pointing out a stacked deck like that would be nothing short of impolite. Speaking of stacked, nice sweater. Is that angora?"

Robin raised her water bottle. "Now, there's the Barney I know and usually tolerate, and yes, it is. No need to worry about the mini-Teds' futures, because they will also be mini-Tracys, and it is downright scary how well those two mix. Their kids are going to be freaking adorable." She took a swig of her water. The sweep of her lashes shielded her eyes from his view.

He'd stepped over a line. He didn't know what line, or where or when, but he had. Still time to turn it around, though. "So, Tracy's cool?"

"She is. We'd probably be friends anyway, even without Ted. I mean, she's not Lily, but it's nice to have a single female friend. Not that Tracy's really single-single. Feels like I'm cheating on Lily sometimes, though. Do not tell her I said that."

"You really think Lily doesn't want you to have friends? You have been away too long. Other than that, being friends with your ex-fiancé's future fiancée is very modern. There could be a made for TV movie in there somewhere. Ted would probably have to be a serial killer, though, if you wanted to get it on cable. Or a single father. Maybe both. Cover all bases, get better ratings that way."

Amusement sparked in Robin's eyes. "Right, and then Tracy and I can raise the kids together once he's brought to justice or falls down an elevator shaft or something. Do we have to kill Ted? _I_ broke up with _him_."

Barney pretended to consider. "I don't know. Maybe he can reform behind bars and get paroled when he's too old to do any harm to anyone. So, it's really not weird between the two of you?"

"Kind of. Sometimes. Like I said, we're working our way to a new normal. When it gets too weird, we can usually play nice for Tracy's sake. She wants us all to get along so much, it's kind of like a force of nature. Speaking of which," she tilted her head toward the swirling deluge of white outside the restaurant. "We should probably get going if we want to get back to your place before they deliver the trees. I don't see a lot of cabs out there."

Barney slid out of his seat and strode to the front window. He didn't see any cabs. Not a single speck of yellow. "I think we're going to have to walk the whole way. Are you up for that? I could call Ranjit."

Robin took a final drink from her water and screwed the cap back on the bottle. "You want to take a loving grandfather away from his grandchildren on Christmas Eve? Not a chance. In Canada, we call snow like this a light flurry." She retrieved Barney's scarf from its place on the back of his chair and draped it about his neck. "Question is, are you up for this?"

"You have no idea how much."


End file.
